


Love is Mystical: A Battle of the Bands AU

by Latart0903



Category: Wings of Fire - Tui T. Sutherland
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Human, Band Fic, F/M, Multi, Other Ships Not Mentioned in Tags, Polyamory, battle of the bands au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:16:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Latart0903/pseuds/Latart0903
Summary: Pyrrhia is a music town and each year the Scorpion Den hosts a battle of the bands competition, the highlight of the week-long Pyrrhia Music and Arts Festival.Glory is doubting her place in the Dragonets of Destiny as well as the band’s direction. But never fear! An annoyingly persistent NightWing from a competing band is here to meddle, charm, and inspire!Between working at the Scorpion Den and drumming for the Outclaws, Qibli loves being a part of the festival. On top of that, he and Moon have a good thing going even though Winter has been out of their lives for over a year. But what will happen when Winter’s band makes it into the competition?
Relationships: Deathbringer/Glory (Wings of Fire), Moonwatcher/Qibli/Winter (Wings of Fire)
Comments: 9
Kudos: 14





	Love is Mystical: A Battle of the Bands AU

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Could_be_better](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Could_be_better/gifts).



> This is really just a super self-indulgent thing I had to write to make myself happy. Thanks to [Could_be_better](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19980421/chapters/56959924)  
> for the prompt (and all their fun prompts), my brain would not let go of this idea and I finally got around to writing it. They'd envisioned Tsunami playing the guitar but I went with drums because I just saw her smashing on her drums. Anyway, I hope this provides a brief distraction from all the stressful stuff going on.
> 
> There will be other ships mentioned, (such as Anemone/Tamarin) but I won't come out of left field with anything too crazy.
> 
> Check out this [playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6cDxdXIDuzyO8gyK67quOP?si=jd6tKPHrSseN_8gLheUybw) for the songs the bands play, I’ll add to it as the chapters go. 
> 
> Pyrrhia is like a big city, each tribe has its own distinct area. In this AU they’re people so if you don’t like that sort of thing then you don’t have to read this. The jade winglet kiddos are high school-age or recently graduated, the DoD are in college. 
> 
> These are not my characters and these are not my lyrics. [JadeNightTheWriter](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24360289/chapters/58746574) also has a band AU and has written their own [lyrics](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25171576/chapters/60999748) (super fancy!) so check it out because they did such an awesome job.

_It goes bad to worse, you said it first_

_It's hopeless, we can't lift that curse_

_'Cause we both know we ain't got self-control_

_And I'll always come when you bang on my door  
_

Relief overcame Glory. The set was finished, and she hadn’t died of embarrassment. 

As soon as the obligatory applause faded, the band backpedaled so the mid-stage curtain could close. And so Kestrel could berate the band in private. “Starflight, you were late on the intro. Tsunami the drums sounded stiff. Clay did you forget to tune your bass? Sunny, it doesn’t sound like you’re resting your voice between practices, the last chorus was strained. And Glory.”

Glory braced herself and scowled at the stupid tambourine in her hands.

“Glory, you’re wearing a sweatshirt. A sweatshirt! Can you pretend that you care about _some_ thing? This is the showcase! You’re supposed to get people excited for your performance at the end of the week. I don’t know how you kids got into this competition. You all were vile today!”

Luckily Kestrel stormed off before she could catch Glory’s eye roll.

Tsunami gritted her teeth and chucked her drumsticks into a bin. Poor Sunny deflated and hung her head. Starflight wrung his hands and looked unsure of himself. But he always looked like that.

“Hey, guys,” Clay said. “We did our best. I thought everyone was great.”

“We’d be great if Kestrel would stop holding us back!” Tsunami growled.

“I agree with Tsunami for once,” Glory chimed in.

“I know she’s hard on us but she just wants us to be successful,” Sunny tried. And then she squeaked and clamped her hands over her mouth. “Vocal rest, I forgot,” she whispered.

Starflight unplugged his keyboard. “Maybe we should go back to Sunny’s and practice on our own. That would be the smartest thing to do. We have the rest of the week to rehearse the new songs before the competition.”

“You four can go right ahead,” Glory said. “She keeps cutting my parts. We all know Kestrel will be happier if I just quit.”

“She didn’t cut your parts,” Tsunami teased. “You played tambourine and sang backup for the last two songs. Super important.”

Glory’s lip curled. “Tsunami, I will shove your drumsticks down your—”

“Actually, the second to the last song she used claves and not the tambourine,” Starflight interjected.

“Thanks, Starflight,” Glory said, and then started mocking his voice. “Technically, it wasn’t _this_ lame percussion instrument, it was an even _lamer_ percussion instrument!”

“Guys, please don’t fight,” Clay said. “So . . . like . . . rehearsal? I’ll bring snacks. We can order pizza, too. We’ll feel better after we practice. Just us.”

Sunny enthusiastically nodded, eager to stop the argument while obeying Kestrel’s orders. 

“Have fun,” Glory said. “I’m going back to the dorms. You don’t need me anyway based on Kestrel’s setlist.”

Sunny gave her that sappy “I know you care more than you’re letting on” face.

The disheartened Dragonets of Destiny began breaking down Tsunami’s drum kit and tore down the backdrop they’d painted the night before. Somehow the band had acquired a few groupies that called themselves the Fandomets. Kinkajou pinballed between band members, gushing over how awesome they were. Peril nervously hovered around Clay and melted wherever he sent a smile her way. One time he showed her how to play the bassline to “Enter Sandman” and Glory thought Peril would spontaneously combust from twenty minutes of uninterrupted Clay time. And then there was Fatepseaker, doting over Starflight and packing up all of his electronic equipment for him because she didn’t want him to work too hard.

“Awesome set, sis!” Glory heard Jambu’s voice off to the side of the stage.

“Thanks.”

Jambu and his ridiculous pink dreadlocks played ukulele with a ragtag group of musicians from RainWing Village Community College. They never entered the competition portion of the art festival. They played wherever the event planners needed them. Any open air space near the artist booths, any venue that needed a filler between sets. 

Competition wasn’t a RainWing thing. So why was Glory so wrapped up in this stupid battle of the bands thing, anyway? Maybe because this was the band’s ticket to being discovered. And once they were big, they’d have the freedom to make music their way. But so far that wasn’t the case. Kestrel was ruining their lives by turning them into some watered-down pop rock band, playing generic love ballads and catering to teeny boppers. _No offense, Kinkajou._

The Dragonets of Destiny were supposed to be artistic and groundbreaking. No band in Pyrrhia was as diverse as theirs. No band in the area had the guts to speak out against the war. But no one cared about messages that mattered these days. Everyone wanted entertainment that didn’t make them think too hard. And Kestrel was making it clear that the Dragonets had an uninspiring destiny.

And why did Glory want to try that hard, anyway? Didn’t the Nightwings win the competition every single year?

“Welp, I’ll talk to you later, Jambu. Break a leg,” Glory said.

“Ouch! No thanks!”

“It’s a figure of speech, Jambu.”

“A figure of what?”

“Jambu, did you fail English Comp again?”

Her brother scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Er . . . Yeah. It’s just all that grammar. Like, why does writing have to have all those rules, you know? Like, why can’t I just write how I feel?”

Glory couldn’t be annoyed with her half-brother. His spirit was too free to be held back by boring _rules_. She only wished she could be as oblivious.

After wrapping the cord around her unused looper pedal, Glory tossed it into her crate and piled her worthless percussion instruments on top. She eyed her violin beside the bin, still in its case. She wasn’t sure why she’d tuned it before practice, or why she even brought it. 

Clay, the doll he was, hauled her crate out to his dilapidated brown van that served as the band’s primary source of transportation. That is, when the van wasn’t busy stalling on the side of the road or spending weeks in the shop.

Glory hung back with her neglected violin so she could avoid the annoying motivational sayings that would ensue on the ride back. She’d just catch the bus later. She watched the RainWings take the stage, while Anemone micromanaged her gaggle of brothers as they tuned their instruments behind the curtain. They were slated as the next showcase band. 

Mangrove and Orchid began their adorable song with a whistled intro. 

Jambu strummed his tiny ukelele. Glory’s gut twisted with slight jealousy as Tamarin’s bow flitted across her violin. “ _There’ll be sun, sun, su-u-un_ ,” all the RainWings harmonized with effortless coordination. 

Mangrove had always insisted that Glory had a spot in the band. “Two violins are better than one!” Orchid had agreed in her sing-song voice.

Maybe the Dragonets of Destiny were trying too hard. Or maybe they were trying to be something they weren’t. Glory thought back to that spark they’d all felt the night they’d started the band in Tsunami’s basement. Starflight nearly fainting over Sunny’s lyrics. Clay overly excited and plucking an experimental rhythm on his bass. Glory’s violin feeding off the energy in the room. 

The Dragonets had lost their spark. Maybe Glory was holding them back. Maybe if she got out of their way, the band would have a better chance of winning the competition. 

_Oh, there'll be love, love, love wherever you go_

_There'll be love, love, love wherever you go_

The end of the RainWings’ song pulled Glory out of her head. Over her shoulder, Glory noticed Anemone, ignoring Pike’s questions about the finalized setlist. Her starry eyes were fixed on Tamarin and her enviable violin skills. Glory stepped aside so Anemone could get a better view as the RainWings veered off into an improvised jam session.

On her way out, Glory waved to Thorn, who gave her a sympathetic look from behind the bar. “That bad, huh?” Glory said, but applause drowned out her voice. _Never mind._

Five steps from the door, she heard an unfamiliar voice. “Killer boots.”

She looked down at her iridescent Doc Martens and then back up in the voice's direction. A figure lurked in the shadows at the corner of the bar near the entrance. “Uh, thanks.” She guessed that was a pretentious NightWing accent she’d just heard. She strained her eyes and, yes, there was a pretentious NightWing trying to talk to her. NightWing Reserve University was the best school in Pyrrhia. If you asked anyone from NightWing Reserve, that is. And of course, if you asked anyone at IceWing Institute of Technology, they’d say theirs was the best. Regardless, NightWings were far more insufferable than IceWings. The University had somehow brainwashed all of their students to master their “preppy vampire” aesthetic and adopt an accent even though the campus was situated only thirty miles northeast.

The NightWing leaned forward out of the shadows. He was chewing on a plastic bar straw and wearing a faded black Misfits tee that read “Die, Die My Darling”. “What’s in there?” he asked, gesturing at her violin case with his mangled straw. 

“It’s clearly a violin case.”

“Have you no imagination? Haven’t you seen those old gangster films where they conceal their violence with instrument cases?”

“No. You really think I have a weapon in here?”

“How would I know? You didn’t use it on stage.”

“That’s because—” _Because Kestrel wants me out of the band. Because I don’t belong in the Dragonets of Destiny. Because I play a classical instrument no one cares about anymore._

“Because your band is selling out?” the boy guessed.

“And how would you know that?”

The boy’s mouth pulled into a sly grin. _Typical cocky NightWing_ , Glory thought. What was a NightWing even doing just hanging around the Scorpion Den? NightWings weren’t slated for their showcase set until tomorrow. And then it dawned on Glory. He was scouting. Sizing up the competition, looking for weaknesses, analyzing threats. Well, the Dragonets of Destiny weren’t a threat. Especially with Glory dragging them down. 

“I’d love to hear you play it,” the Nightwing said.

“I thought you said I might have some ‘violence’ in here.” NightWings said the strangest things sometimes. 

“Ooh, okay. This sounds fun. I’m willing to take the gamble. If there’s a weapon in there, I’m totally okay with you waving it in my face.”

Glory snorted. “And if it’s a violin?”

“You play me a song.”

“No way. Not in here.” _No one wants to hear me play, anyway._

“You know, I came to see the Dragonets of Destiny. Have you seen them?”

Glory narrowed her eyes. What kind of mind games was this weirdo playing?

The boy grabbed his phone off the bar and located a video. It was footage of a Dragonets of Destiny show from two years ago. They were playing “Sunday Bloody Sunday”, one of the band's best songs. They all fed off of each other, that passion to stand up for what’s right thrumming in their veins. The boy paused the video and pointed to a younger, happier Glory memorialized in pixels. “Is this not the same band? Where’s their violinist?”

“I’m—Our manager keeps cutting my parts. Apparently I’m not marketable.” _Why am I spilling my guts to a stranger?_

“Shows what she knows.”

“Oh? And you’re some industry expert?”

“I spend a lot of time researching the competition. And I have a lot of information that could be of use to you.” He patted the barstool beside him. “So, will you play me a song?”

“Sorry.”

“How about a drink, then?”

Glory raised an eyebrow. “You want me to buy you a drink?”

The boy laughed. “No, no. I meant like . . . what if I bought you a drink?”

“I’m not that interested. I need to get home and contemplate why I’m wasting my time. Thanks for the, uh, strange conversation.”

The boy heaved an exaggerated sigh. “All right. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“No, you won’t. The competition’s in five days.”

“Yes, but the IceWings have a lot of hype built up around them. So we should check out their showcase. See what they’re all about.”

“We?”

“Yes. Oh, and the NightWing showcase is before the IceWings. You’ll want to see us play. And after the showcases, you’ll want to join me next door to heckle Scarlet.” He did a cringe-worthy imitation of Scarlet’s “Doll Parts”, complete with the bored and washed-up tone her recent performances had taken on. “It’ll be so worth your time. And loads of fun. I promise.”

“Scarlet despises me.”

“Exactly! So much fun. Your presence will totally throw her off. She’ll end her performance prematurely and go off on another one of her unhinged rants.” 

Early in the band’s career, Kestrel had arranged for the Dragonets of Destiny to open for a few of Scarlet’s local shows. Addiction and ego had already compromised the quality of Scarlet’s performances, and the Dragonets’ lively energy had been a stark contrast. After the first show, the press bombarded Glory and Sunny, leaving Scarlet fuming backstage. The audience booed Scarlet off the stage at the second show. And then there was the third show, when Glory spilled coffee—and stepped on Scarlet’s tiara, she tripped, totally an accident—before Scarlet went on stage. Scarlet started blaming her downfall on the Dragonets and loved singling out Glory as the impetus.

The boy’s grin grew devilish as he watched Glory think it over. 

“I don’t know . . .”

“The only convincing excuse you can give me is that tomorrow evening you’re planning on dusting off that violin of yours and reviving your band’s chances of winning.”

“And why do you care?”

“Let’s just say I’m a fan. This band deserves to win,” he said, shaking his phone with the old Dragonets of Destiny video paused. “Look, this is where things stand. Kestrel is wasting her time catering to Blaze’s music preferences. The IceWings are a little too out-there for Blaze’s taste, but she’s dating Glacier so you’ll never get her vote. There’s a possibility that Kestrel has been vying for Burn’s vote since Scarlet is a complete and utter disgrace, and there’s no other SkyWing talent. But Burn also loves loud guitars, so my band is hard to beat. Blister always votes for the NightWings. While she does have impeccable taste, I’ve heard a rumor or two about Morrowseer bribing her. And now she’s on the board of directors at Night Media, since the recent Oasis Records acquisition.”

Glory wondered if Sunny was aware of this. Sunny used to keep a blog where she pointed out the propaganda from Night Media outlets and would counter their disinformation with a well-researched tirade. “In other words, this thing could be rigged.”

“You didn’t hear it from me. But here’s the interesting part. Smoulder is a new wild card and might not be influenced by his sisters this time around.” The boy dropped his voice. “He’s been spending a lot of time with Thorn.”

“Wait, what? Sunny hasn’t said anything.”

“I’m just telling you what I know. He and Thorn have gotten close. Thorn has a very diverse taste in music and the SandWing siblings have agreed to give her a vote this year since she does so much for the festival. If the Outclaws’ lineup is any indication, she likes a variety of unconventional instruments.”

“Like my worthless claves?”

“What the hell are claves?”

“Those little stick things I was—Never mind. You’re telling me we hardly have a chance.”

“I’m telling you to rethink the band’s new direction. It couldn’t hurt to check out the Outclaws who are after the SeaWings. And if you stay, you’ll also have the pleasure of enjoying my charming personality for the remainder of the evening.”

Glory inched toward the door. “Riiiiight. I should go.”

“Wait. Don’t you want to know my name?”

“Not really.”

“Well, just in case you want to find me after our show tomorrow night.”

“You can hold your breath, I won’t be there.”

“All right, I’ll tell you even though you’re going to look it up later. My name is Deathbringer.”

Glory wanted to burst out laughing. How did that stuck-up part of town convince every NightWing citizen to give their children the strangest mouthful names? 

The RainWings wrapped up their set, a flourish of lighthearted ukulele and carefree vocals. Anemone would be on next. And then the Outclaws. Maybe this boy—Deathbringer, whatever kind of name that was—was right. Maybe she should stick around. _In the name of research_ , she clarified in her head.

\-----

Qibli bounded down the street toward the Scorpion Den, humming to himself. He loved this time of year. The city felt so alive during the annual Pyrrhia Music and Arts Festival. He loved popping in and out of the cafes and music venues, gallery-hopping with Moon and listening to her fascinating interpretations of strange modern art installations, playing with the Outlaws almost every day, staying out late and singing until his voice was hoarse. This was what the festival was all about. Losing your worries and just being in the moment. Sure, this time around the festival stakes were higher. This was the first year Oasis Records was signing the winner of the battle of the bands that the Scorpion Den hosted every year.

Six-Claws greeted Qibli at the door and handed him a flier of the week’s lineup with his work assignments and hours scribbled in the margin. “You know,” Qibli said. “There are these things called computers, and you can make these things called spreadsheets, and they even have scheduling software so I don’t have to decipher your handwriting. I can’t tell whether I’m on sound check, security or sanitation tomorrow.”

“Like your chicken scratch is any better,” Six-Claws said, shaking his head. “You’re more than welcome to set up a scheduling system for Thorn. And you’re on sound check tomorrow, but if you keep giving me a hard time, I’ll revise your assignment to sanitation and you can sweep plastic cups off the floor all day.”

Six-Claws left Qibli in charge of the door while he went on break, so Qibli took stock of the crowd at the Scorpion Den. He’d missed the Dragonets of Destiny, so he’d have to get the details from Moon. Anemone + The Royals were just getting started, Anemone’s bratty but dreamy vocals floating in the air. 

_I used to think that_

_I should be good at everything_

_Now I know I was wrong_

_I used to think that_

_I should do right by everyone_

_Now I know I was wrong_

He knew Turtle was standing out of sight on stage left, a ball of nerves as always, mouthing the lyrics he’d written with his sister. Turtle was actually great at playing both the guitar and piano, but he hated performing.

Qibli scanned the crowd for Moon. He spotted her with Tamarin and Kinkajou, swaying to the SeaWings’ catchy chorus. Tamarin was such an adorably giddy mess that it made Qibli smile. 

_Resurrected from the basement_

_I'm at capacity, I'm spilling out of me_

He waved and got Moon’s attention. She blew him a kiss, and he thought his smile might look as goofy and in-love as Tamarin’s.

Near the door, Qibli noticed Glory from the Dragonets of Destiny chatting with that NightWing that stalked the Scorpion Den every year during the festival. He wasn’t as hostile as other NightWings and seemed like a nice enough guy, but Glory looked like she was distancing herself, so Qibli kept a close eye on the two just in case he had to intervene. 

After scanning the room, he poured over the lineup for the rest of the week. 

_Battle of the Bands Showcase Schedule_

_Monday:_

_Earth, Sibs, and Water_

_Dragonets of Destiny_

_Anemone + The Royals_

_Tuesday:_

_Obsidian Mirror_

_Diamond Trial_

_Ripti—_

Wait. Diamond Trial had made it into the competition? Qibli’s breath got caught in his throat. He hadn’t seen Winter in over a year, not since he transferred out of Jade Mountain Academy and back to the exclusive boarding school in IceWing Heights. His entire family had graduated from that stupid academy, and Winter decided tradition was more important than his own happiness.

But Winter would be here. Tomorrow. His band’s showcase was immediately after Obsidian Mirror. That would be interesting. Whose idea was it to put the NightWings and the IceWings back to back? Icicle and Fierceteeth had the potential to become bitter rivals, and one of the lead singers would surely instigate a fight. At least Qibli would be here to help keep order. Maybe he should have Six-Claws switch him to security.

But back to Winter. Qibili’s heart was slamming into his ribcage. Did Moon know? Should they talk about it? What would it be like to be around him again?

Qibli didn’t have time to dwell on it. The door opened and despite the warm June evening, an icy breeze drifted in. Qibli was face to face with cheekbones sharper than his mother’s chakrams. 

Winter froze, eyes wide. “Qibli?” he choked out.

“Hey, Winter. I, uh, congrats on the band making it into the competition.” Qibili held up the Scorpion Den’s schedule of events, hoping his hand wasn’t trembling. “Diamond Trial. That’s you, right?”

Winter rubbed at his forearm, eyes darting around the room, maybe searching for an excuse. Or an emergency exit. “Yeah. That’s me and Icicle.” Under his breath, Qibli thought he heard Winter mutter something about “the Scorpion Den” and “of course Qibli’s here”.

“Moon’s here, too,” Qibli blurted. “She’s watching the show, I could . . . find her. If you wanted to say hi.”

Winter chewed his bottom lip. “That’s, uh, that’s okay. I’ll catch up with her when I have more time.”

That was Winter’s code for: I still haven’t processed my feelings yet.

“I’m just here to drop off our equipment. Icicle doesn’t want us seen lugging our amps and stuff before the show tomorrow.”

“Yeah, that would be terrible for your image,” Qibli teased. “The Scorpion Den has amps you can borrow.” But Qibli already knew Winter’s response before the sentence was halfway out of his mouth. 

Winter wrinkled his nose at the thought of using the Scorpion Den’s low-end communal equipment. “Thanks, but everything’s in my car already. I just need to know where to store it. Icicle said she spoke with someone named Six-Claws about it.”

“He’s on break. But I can help you unload.”

“Great,” Winter muttered.

Qibli ignored Winter’s grumbling and wrapped the boy’s delicate wrist with an “under twenty-one” wristband. He then motioned for a fellow Outclaw to stand by the door.

Winter pulled his silver Mercedes around to the back of the venue while Qibli snuck backstage to snag the least dusty cart so he didn’t have to deal with Winter complaining if his top-of-the-line equipment got dirty. The boys wrestled amps onto the cart and found a safe place for Winter’s keyboard, mixer, and headphones in the one storage closet that actually locked. Qibli kept stealing glances up at Winter as they arranged the equipment. The way the IceWing tossed his head to get his platinum locks out of his eyes still made Qibli’s stomach flip-flop.

“So how was senior year?” Qibli asked.

“It was fine. Looking forward to a fresh start at college.”

“Where are you planning on going?”

Winter sighed. “I’m ‘wait-listed’ for IceWing Tech.”

“Wait-listed? What does that entail?” Qibli asked.

Winter looked at Qibli and huffed “It entails waiting, Qibli. It means I wait. Like everything else in my life. I have to wait until someone deems me worthy.”

Qibli’s shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry, man. I remember you really wanted to go there.”

“Yeah, well, the band’s relative success is the only reason my family hasn’t completely disowned me yet. I got accepted into Pyrrhia State so . . .”

“That’s where I’m going!” Qibli’s heart almost leaped out of his chest. “After being at Jade Mountain Academy, it felt weird applying to SandWing U and being around mostly SandWings again.”

“I haven’t accepted yet. I’m still waiting to hear from IceWing Tech.”

“Well, you could try Pyrrhia State for a year. Get some credits out of the way. There’s still time to request roommate placement.” Qibli swallowed hard waiting for Winter’s reaction. “It could be like old times.”

Winter’s eyes snapped up, his eyes intense but unreadable. He then shook his head to dismiss the idea, releasing his death grip on the cart.

Qibli tried a different angle. “Moon misses you, too.” 

Winter barked an incredulous laugh. “What are you trying to—I don’t get it. You got the girl, you’ve got your found family. You won. You get to live happily ever after. Why do you keep trying to drag me into it?”

“Drag? I’m sorry, but our junior year at Jade Mountain was amazing. I thought we all had fun. You’re always letting these weird IceWing rules ruin your life. Just do what makes you happy and forget all that crap and—”

“I can’t Qibli! IceWing traditions aren’t crap. My parents are tough on me because they care.”

Moon cared. And so did Qibli. He stopped prodding Winter. He hadn’t really talked to Moon about it, anyway. Qibli and Moon were good together. But they were even better with Winter around. At the end of Qibli’s junior year, he had tried to broach the subject with Winter. The IceWing had paced their dorm room, freaking out about how to explain polyamory to his parents and how in Pyrrhia did that even work and what in three moons was wrong with Qibli? And Winter dealt with uncertainty the way he always did. By distancing himself.

“So . . . Are you going to stick around? The Outclaws are playing next.”

Winter’s jaw was clenched and that little vein that stuck out on his temple when he was irritated was . . . well, sticking out. “I need to get back.”

“Stay. I can rustle up some food from the kitchen.”

“I’m not hungry.” Winter’s stomach growled.

Qibli giggled. “Come on.”

“I’m not into mediocre bar food. Thanks, though.”

“Yes, but someone I know has a weakness for popcorn shrimp . . .” Qibli needled Winter in the ribs. 

Winter groaned and checked the time. “Fine. But just for a short while.”

Qibli tried not to celebrate. They walked back out into the bar, Anemone + the Royals blasting in their ear drums. The crowd was clapping with the beat and when Anemone motioned with the mic, they echoed.

_I'm so BORED_

“Bored!”

_I’m never tired in my bed, I’m so BORED_

“Bored!”

_. . . of these thoughts inside my head, I'm so BORED_

“Bored!”

_. . . bored of being all alone, just hoping I find purpose in these pictures on my phone, I'm so BORED_

They ducked into the kitchen for some food, and then Qibli set Winter up at an empty seat at the bar.

Winter unrolled his silverware—because how could Qibli expect him to eat with his hands?—and scowled at the decades’ worth of scratchiti covering the wooden bar. He then looked around, no doubt assessing the last time the Scorpion Den had been cleaned. “This place is . . .”

“Charming? Quirky?”

“Unsanitary.” Winter grabbed a handful of bar napkins, pulled hand sanitizer out of his blazer pocket and began wiping down his area of the bar.

Qibli quickly realized he hadn’t chosen the best location. Winter’s seat was near the door so once the show was over, if Winter stuck around, Qibli could still chat with him. Or just look at him. Either way. But he’d forgotten about the NightWing. Glory hadn’t left yet, and it appeared the NightWing had offered his seat, she had refused, and they were both hovering around the empty bar stool like stubborn idiots.

Qibli lunged to block Winter’s view, but it was too late. “What’s a NightWing doing here?” Winter asked.

The NightWing flashed him a cheeky grin, which was worse than if he’d just snarled back at Winter.

“Don’t mind my friend,” Qibli said. “He gets cranky when he’s hungry, and he’s really eager for me to get on stage.” Then in a low voice to Winter: “There’s going to be NightWings everywhere tomorrow. And the entire week. Just stop.”

“I’m not here to watch you play,” Winter retorted. 

“Just eat your food.” Qibli pushed the plate toward the IceWing. “He adores me,” he said to the NightWing and Glory, both of which looked amused. “He’s my biggest fan.”

“Ha! Indeed! You’re delusional,” Winter said, fighting a blush back by stabbing a shrimp with excessive force.

“We’re probably going to get married someday.”

Winter snorted so hard he almost choked on his shrimp. 

Anemone + The Royals finished their set, and the crowd roared. Once Qibli was relatively convinced Winter would behave himself, he dashed backstage where the Outclaws were setting up. Being the resident band of the Scorpion Den, Thorn decided it wasn’t fair for the Outclaws to enter the competition. But being the resident band meant that most nights ended with an Outclaw performance. Sometimes it was a raucous drum circle and other times it was a blur of covers and musical chairs, the band members trading instruments. They never played a song the same way. Qibli would occasionally pick up a trumpet, but he usually stuck with the drums or any percussion he could get his hands on. 

As he helped push the piano onto the stage, Qibli tried to find Moon in the crowd again. She waved and Kinkajou bounded up and down to see over the people in front of her. He hoped Moon hadn’t seen Winter just yet. It would be best if they could sit and talk tomorrow. Or maybe she already knew, but was also waiting to talk to Qibli. Moon was always perceptive like that. Half the time she knew what Qibli was feeling or thinking before he even did.

After the band set up the drums, they took their places. Qibli settled onto his seat and pulled his drumsticks from his back pocket. He looked around at his band and that content feeling of being at home swelled in his chest, temporarily crowding out his apprehensions about Winter. He was surprised to see Ostrich on stage, ready to add her mandolin to the mix today. Tawny opened the song with piano and then Qibli layered on his drums, building up, louder, stronger until Kindle joined in with the double bass and Six-Claws with his guitar. Armadillo readied his violin and then Six-Claws’s voice echoed throughout the packed venue.

_All your precious souls_

_Have been bought and sold_

_For bargain basement lows_

_To common criminals_

_So you are having visions_

_Adverse flying conditions_

_Overseas transmissions_

_To anyone who will listen_

Qibli wanted to stay lost in the rhythm of his drums, but he began wondering how closely Winter was watching him. Wondered if Moon knew Winter was mere heartbeats away from her. Wondered if the three moons would align for their three hearts this time around.

_You're waiting for the drums to kick in_

_You want to free your earthbound limbs_

_I am gonna count to three_

_Then you are leaving here with me . . ._

\-----

The Outclaws were impressive. And it was all because they were having the time of their lives. Could the Dragonets of Destiny get that back? 

Qibli had switched from drums to the trumpet, and the band was half-way through “Janglin” when they pulled Smolder on stage because apparently he played harmonica and why not throw that in with the eight other instruments on stage? Smolder made a big show of trying to drag Thorn with him. The entire bar chanted her name until she stood on a barstool, flipped everyone off, and said she wasn’t singing tonight.

The only person in the bar that wasn’t entertained by the venue’s rowdiness was the IceWing boy that Qibli had deposited at the bar. The boy shook his head and pushed away his half-eaten plate of fried shrimp. Then he got up and walked toward the door, glaring at Deathbringer on his way out.

“He’s pleasant,” the Deathbringer commented.

“Your smug face didn’t help.”

The NightWing dialed up the snobby accent. “‘Smug? Whatever do you mean?”

Glory put her glass of seltzer on the bar and pushed off the wall she was leaning on. “I should get going as well.”

“Don’t forget to bring your violin tomorrow.”

“I never agreed to come tomorrow. And why would I need my violin?”

Deathbringer shrugged, but his lips pulled into a mischievous smile. “You never know what will happen.”

As Glory waited for the bus, she hugged her violin case and told herself not to look up the band members of Obsidian Mirror. She dug her phone out of her bag and called Sunny instead.

“Glory! I’m so happy you called. Everyone just left. We practiced and I’m drinking tea with honey and I feel really great about our progress.”

“Oh. That’s good, I guess.”

“I wish you would’ve joined us.”

“Yeah, about that . . .”

**Author's Note:**

> Up next: the NightWings and the IceWings perform. Glory and Qibli may or may not be impressed.
> 
> Also, it felt weird to write about everyone being in a public place but not wearing masks. Thanks COVID…
> 
> I realize not everyone uses spotify so here's a list of the songs referenced:  
> "Bad to Worse": Ra Ra Riot  
> "5 Years Time": Noah and the Whale  
> "Capacity": Charly Bliss  
> "Bored": Tessa Violet  
> "All the Sand in the Sea": DeVotchKa  
> "Janglin": Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros


End file.
